


Rust and Stardust

by Iridogorgia



Series: You've Haunted Me All My Life [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Haunting, Molly ages and he doesn't, Moriarty haunts Molly, ghost - Freeform, molliarty - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 12:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15994862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iridogorgia/pseuds/Iridogorgia
Summary: The last long lap is the hardest. I shall be dumped where the weed decays, and the rest is rust and stardust.Jim is a ghost, and wouldn’t it just figure that he haunts Molly Hooper.





	Rust and Stardust

Molly Hooper didn’t believe in ghosts.

Molly Hooper worked with the dead for a living, and she knew better than anyone else that the human body was just a shell for the energy that made a person really alive. She’d cut open hundreds of people, and no ghost had ever popped up to haunt her.

So, when Molly Hooper woke up one morning to the transparent gaze of Jim Moriarty, who had been floating perpendicular to her bed, she didn’t move at all.

It had been seven years since he blew his brains out, and he looked exactly the same.

She said the first thing that came to mind. “Hi.”

He blinked very slowly at her, “Hi.”

She stayed frozen under her covers. “You…you’re dead.”

He nodded, and she saw the beginning of the fatal wound on his head. “Yep.”

Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “Why are you _here_?”

He rolled around, almost like an otter cutting through a calm sea, and floated around her ceiling. She very clearly saw the exit wound from the bullet on the back of his head, and it was strange seeing straight into his mouth. Strange, but also incredibly interesting. “Not sure.”

She relaxed as he floated around her ceiling. “Do you…need something?”

There was still a heavy silver gun in his hand, and she remembered bagging that up. It had been nice, an expensive Italian brand. He turned around, appearing to relax on her ceiling while staring down at her. “Not really. Do _you_?”

She shrugged. “Not sure.”

He tapped the gun to his chest. “Maybe we’ll figure it out together.”

That was the beginning of how Molly Hooper gained a psychotic roommate that only she could see, who never paid rent, and made her cat act insane whenever she brought a gentleman caller home.

—

One of Jim’s favorite things to do was watch Molly eat.

She absently bit into a sandwich while Jim sat across from her, approximately on the second chair in her dining set.

“How does that taste?” He asked absently, one hand propping up his head while the other loosely held the gun that took his life.

“Okay. I put a little bit too much mustard.” She licked the corner of her mouth.

“Ugh. Mustard. I should do you a favor and spoil it.” That was one of his talents, they’d discovered a month in to their arrangement. She’d said something to put him in a mood, and when she went to open the fridge, all of her produce had turned. Even the condiments.

“No.” Molly turned a page in her trashy magazine. “Oh, apparently the queen has some sort of problem with the new princess. Meghan. “

“Shot myself in the head and can’t even get away from the royal gossip. I told you to pick up a copy of ‘The Psychology Influence of Persuasion’, anyway. You need to read something with more substance.” He floated up and faded from view.

“No thanks,” she called out. “When I need help, I’ll ask someone _alive_.”

He didn’t respond. She rolled her eyes and muttered, “Typical.”

The next time she went to make a sandwich, her mustard had molded.

—

“What are you doing?” Jim was hovering over her shoulder again, staring at her computer screen.

“I’m paying my bills,” she answered. Not answering him just lead to him doing something creepy, like floating through her. That had been the coldest she’d ever been, and he had looked a little disgusted as well. According to him, she had been uncomfortably warm.

“Why?” She got the sense, through her time with him, that Jim Moriarty had never lived like an ordinary person.

She sighed. “Otherwise, my power, gas and rubbish won’t be serviced. Plus the internet. You like the internet, right? And rent. You can’t haunt this place unless I pay for it.”

He blinked owlishly. “Why don’t you just have it all draw out of my accounts? I don’t need it anymore anyway.”

“I don’t want your blood money, Jim.” She kept fiddling with her bank account.

“Suit yourself.” He floated over to the kitchen and she heard Toby start his ‘there’s something interesting on the wall’ chatter.

“Leave the cat alone, Jim.”

She heard the thump of Toby jumping into the wall.

She sighed.

—

“He’s really not good at this is he?”

Jim reclined against the ceiling, watching Molly glare at him over the shoulder of her latest boyfriend. She mouthed ‘Go away!’ and made a shooing motion with her hand.

“Should I get the cat? I can get Toby to jump on him. Right on his flabby buttocks.” Jim looked at the man with disgust. He was convinced Jim from IT had been the best Molly had ever had.

To her chagrin, he wasn’t wrong.

Brad was trying his hardest, this was their fourth date and Molly had desperately wanted sex so she’d invited him back to her place. To her shame, he still lived with his mother.

Looking at Jim, she started to remember the three times she’d slept with Jim from IT. She’d found him thoughtful in his attentions and knowledgeable of the female form. And he had a really, really nice penis. He caught her gaze wandering down his transparent body and gave her a knowing smirk.

“You miss me, Molly Hooper?” He put his hands behind his head and spread his legs apart slightly, anchoring his feet on the ceiling.

She hesitated before giving a slight nod and moaning a “Yeeees,” right in Brad’s ear.

He thrust his hips down toward her, “You want me to talk you through this? I can probably give you an orgasm, even with this pathetic sack of flesh.”

She nodded again as Brad started to speed up. He was mashing uncomfortable up against her cerivx and she winced. “Come on, baby!” She rolled her eyes at Jim and he sighed.

“The mood is gone, huh?” At her discreet nod, he stretched his legs out. “Oh well. Next time, Molly Hooper. Or maybe in your _dreams_.”

She looked at him sharply and made a nod to the door.

Right as Brad came, Toby sunk his claws into the man’s pimply gluteus maximus.

—

“How _has_ Sherlock been?” The question was too nonchalant to be casual.

She shot him a look. “I’m shocked it took you this long to ask. He’s doing well. Solving crimes, not dating, helping John with Rosamund. Leading a full, happy life.”

They’d discovered very quickly that Jim was restricted what Molly would consider her home. He could venture out to her doormat, but no farther. When Molly went to babysit Rosie, Jim could not follow. She thanked her lucky stars every time. She absolutely did not want to hear whatever he had to say about the littlest Watson.

He looked away. “Mm. What ever happened with Eurus? I know something did, but did you enjoy my presents?”

She looked at him dumbly. “Jim, that was ten years ago. She caught Sherlock, Mycroft and John. Made them do a bunch of insane shit as a human experiment. Including,” here she blushed and looked down, “making me tell Sherlock I loved him. I made him say it back, though.” She looked at her counter and scrubbed it a little harder.

Jim was silent.

“Do you love him? Here, now?” He asked abruptly, after shadowing her for thirty minutes while she cleaned the small apartment.

She sighed. “Sherlock has made it clear he’s married to his work.” She started dusting her knick knacks with slightly too much force.

He took the non answer for what it was and faded out for the day.

She let out a deep breath into the silent apartment.

—

The day Toby died, Jim shadowed Molly silently as she found his cold form curled up in his little cat bed in the morning.

“Did you realize,” she’d choked out, “it’s been twenty years since you showed up?”

He hadn’t, and he just now noticed the streak of grey on her left temple, and the lines starting to appear on her face.

She silently packed Toby’s rigid form into a blanket. The rigor mortis had set in overnight, so she just wrapped him in his favorite fuzzy blanket, a blue one with a pattern of stars on it. She sighed. “I’ll be back.”

He watched from the window as she caught a cab to the vet.

She returned that evening with a paper, embossed with Toby’s paw print, and a small urn.

Jim felt the strange longing to hold her as she cried. He settled for hovering behind her and running his hands near her face, to cool her.

—

Molly started slowing down.

Jim was still 35 years old, but Molly looked much older. She retired and started sleeping more. She talked to him less.

“Do you have any regrets?” She asked one day, staring out of the window.

“A few.” He looked at her, finding himself slightly regretful that he would never know what he looked like with grey hair. He would never eat another breakfast, never feel the sun again. Molly was close enough to a star in his universe, but he didn’t dare touch her anymore. “Do you?”

“Enough to fill my remaining years with sorrow.” She turned her head to look at him, tracing the hole in his mouth to the ceiling above him. “For a long time, I wanted you to be with me. Grow old with me. But I can’t imagine an old James Moriarty at all.” She turned back to the window. “That seems like someone else’s dream that faded a long time ago.”

He found he couldn’t argue with her, and instead sank onto the armrest next to her.

They watched the sky track across the sky together and sink below the horizon.

When Moriarty looked at her next, she had fallen asleep sitting upright, her head resting against her shoulder.

He fought the urge to pillow it with his hand.

—

The day Molly died dawned bright and cheerful.

She was sixty-seven years old, still small and spry, but showing her age. Her hair was more silver than brown, and Jim found he liked the contrast. He made a habit of telling her every chance he got.

She only looked at him with tired eyes.

Opening a letter she’d shuffled out to retrieve, she told him Sherlock’s most recent news. “His bees are doing well. He thinks he’ll be able to send me a sample of their honey soon.” She’d smiled softly.

There had been a noise at the door.

Some young thugs had broken in, their jackets too large, their pants too big, and they had overpowered her.

Stolen her jewelry, cheap as it was. Her purse. Even Toby’s silver urn. Everything of value.

Moriarty had screamed and floated through all of them, but one of them only murmured, “This bitch can’t even turn the heat on.”

Molly had kept her eyes tracked on him. One of them had wrestled her letter opener from her and stabbed her in her chest. She was so small, it had been like stabbing it through an envelope.

He kneeled next to her. She keened after the men had left, “It _hurts_ , Jim. Did it hurt you? To die?”

He’d shook his head and held up his ever present Beretta. “No, Molly, it was instant. What can I _do_?”

She was fading, and he couldn’t even hold her hand.

She looked scared. “Stay with me? To the end?”

He reached out and held her hand, surprised to find his grip on her hand solid. It was already cold. “To the end.” He confirmed.

She was gasping now. “I..hope we can…be together…after.” He tightened his grip.

He nodded shortly.

“Always.”

Her eyes got tears, “Jim, I…”

He shushed her. “I know. I know, Molly, and I feel the same.”

She died, and Jim discovered that ghosts could cry.

He haunted her apartment until the paramedics came, several hours later. Sherlock had turned up and selected several things of hers to keep as memories. The rest was donated. Jim had floated, motionless, over the spot where Molly Hooper died.

After her flat had been rented, it hadn’t been hers anymore.

Jim felt a draw to the stars, floating high above London, and felt a soft hand in his.

Molly Hooper, 35 years old and in a white lab coat, was holding his hand. She beamed at him. “Want to take a girl to the stars, Jim Moriarty?”

His response was to lean in and kiss her soundly.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on a reeeeally long fic and wanted to bang something out really fast. A 'slice of life' as Jim haunted Molly as she got older. I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
